


Rose and Thorns

by pirates_with_guitars



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders-centric, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, M/M, Married Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Mutual Pining, Other, Pining Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Pining Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Warning: Deceit Sanders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23736703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirates_with_guitars/pseuds/pirates_with_guitars
Summary: Inspired by thepastelpeach's animation Ready As I'll Ever Be.A medieval-esque AU where Roman is an aspiring knight who inherited a music shop from his deceased mother and Virgil is a former nobleman, turned weaponsmith. The childhood friends find themselves in some difficult situations with some new and interesting people. Will they be able to handle what life throws at them, or have these two bit off more than they can chew?
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Joan Stokes/Talyn, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 10
Kudos: 66





	1. Swords and Sunsets

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy my quarantine bullshit :) And if you don't know the animation, go check it out. It's seriously amazing <3

The crisp autumn wind danced on dusty roads and flirted through towering treetops, spreading seeds of wonder in its wake.

Roman was always drawn to the fantasy that the autumn wind held. On every tree he climbed, it was always to the highest branches so the breeze could embrace his face and dance through his hair. In his head, he imagined he was standing on the castle balcony, waving to his subjects as they cheered for their beloved king.

Without an ounce of noble blood in his veins, Roman longed to be there. He longed to be praised. He longed to be strong and powerful. He longed to protect his people with every fiber of his being. He longed to be brave. He longed to be so much more than just the ordinary son of a blacksmith.

His father was a practical man. He taught Roman that everything in life was attained with hard work, but in doing so he paid no outward mind to Roman’s daydreams.

His mother was a different story. Roman’s mother was one of the first females in her craft and proprietor of a music shop. There Roman developed his love of music and song. They had a lovely duet. He would sing as his mother would play the lute, and their act attracted many crowds.

Her figure whispered in his memories with songs of love and heartache. Sweet lullabies and fantastical stories before he fell asleep. Red hair and red lips. A beautiful smile and giving heart. He was often told she was as lovely as the roses that grow in springtime.

She was no longer with him in the physical world and he could barely remember the curves of her face. However, he felt her in his heart whenever he sang or let the wind fly through his hair.

Roman breathed in once more, basking in the magic as it touched his heart and coursed through his veins.

His fantasy was suddenly interrupted by a shout from below.

-

The heat bore into his skin and his bangs fell into his eyes. Virgil scowled, blowing the strands out of his face. He hammered harder.

It had been almost a week and the sword was nearly finished. The thought was quite pleasant, as the man who requested it barked a bite that many noblemen do; that of an impatient asshole.

With another hard hit, embers sparked from the metal. Virgil was tempted to delay the finished product another day just to be spiteful, but in reality, he would not do that to Roman’s father.

Virgil had worked for the man since he was of thirteen summers of age. At that point in time, it was required that he find an apprenticeship or join the dangerous trade of his family. Roman’s father had him start with simple work such as tedious labor. Virgil never minded it though, as he was grateful enough to have a roof over his head, food on his plate, and now, nearly six years since that summer, a profession that he excelled at.

Growing old and weaker, Roman’s father needed more help than ever. Virgil obliged, but the work meant he spent most of his daylight hours stuck in the forge. However, this was his last piece for the day, and tomorrow was his day off. His mood lightened at the prospects of spending the extra time with Roman. Not that he would ever say that outright to him.

Virgil heard footsteps entering the room. Unlike Roman’s energetic steps, these were slow and slightly stumbling. Roman’s father clasped a hand on Virgil’s shoulder, signaling his presence. Virgil stopped his hammering to acknowledge the man.

Roman’s father only faintly resembled his son. They shared the same strong jaw and crinkled eyes, but Roman had his mother’s kind smile and reddish-brown hair.

Virgil took off his gloves and pulled out a chair for Roman's father who sat with a grunt, subtlety rubbing his injured knee. He sighed and Virgil saw the eyes of a man who has lived for many moons. “I assume you have caught wind of the guard recruitment.”

Virgil was dreading this conversation. Yes, he had caught wind of the event. Virgil’s family had long ties with the royal family and some still lived in the castle. He grew up on those grounds and knew that life there was not one of a fairy tale. He had been sent word of the event in hopes that Virgil would attend, but he did not want to live a life of danger and foolish bravery. Roman, however, did not have the same view on the matter.

“He will be attending,” Virgil said. It was not a question. Roman’s father sighed once more.

“Will you like me to convince him otherwise?” Virgil asked.

Roman’s father shook his head and chuckled. “He would listen to you, would he not?” He let his eyes drift along the walls. “Yet, I have no intent to stop him. Roman has dreamed of this his whole life and while I worry about my son dearly, I have no desire to take any more dreams away from him.” Virgil stared at the father. “What are you asking of me, then?”

“I want you to go with him.”

Virgil swallowed. “And do what exactly?” He said defensively. Roman’s father winced as if it physically pained him to request this from the boy. “I am sorry, but it would give me great peace of mind. He means more to me than life itself.” Roman’s father fixed him with a pointed look. “And I am aware that you feel for him in a similar fashion.

Virgil turned away. He knew Roman’s father was referring to their friendship and nothing more. That did not stop the statement from tingeing his cheeks pink. A pang of anxiety welled up in the pit of Virgil's stomach at the thought of returning to his childhood home. Bad memories flooded those walls.

When Virgil settled in the village indefinitely, he stopped answering Roman’s imposing questions, and eventually Roman stopped asking. They did not discuss the incident much after that.

Without making eye contact, Virgil cleared his throat. “The crown is in need of a Weaponsmith. I will take the job," Virgil huffed. "The sword is done.”  
After situating his things, Virgil started to leave, but Roman’s father stood abruptly, grabbing his sleeve, and looking at him with crinkled eyes. “Thank you.”

He sighed again, but this time Virgil could hear the relief in his breath. “Last I saw he was in his mother’s tree.”

-

Roman looked down from his perch to locate the origin of the shout. To his pleasant surprise, his childhood friend stood below, looking drab and sulky as usual. Roman’s spirits lifted at the sight of him. Ever flamboyantly, Roman stood and braced himself on the nearest branch. He called out, “Greetings, wonderful citizens, and you, nerd!”

Virgil glanced around at the lack of citizens before yelling up at Roman. “Get down before you hurt yourself! Or worse, someone sees you acting like a deranged poet!”

Roman laughed jauntily as he leaped down, startling Virgil. Roman smiled. “Where is your sense of adventure, my friend?”

Virgil grimaced. “It ran away with your sense of caution and modesty.” Virgil gave him a slightly worried, but mostly exasperated look. “You could have broken your leg just now and no one would have rescued you because they would have thought you were simply too idiotic to revive.”

Roman simply grinned at Virgil’s anxious mind. Virgil rolled his eyes and Roman noticed him shivering. He squinted his eyes in the direction of the setting sun. It was in fact a strange hour for the fretful fellow to be gracing him with his presence, Roman thought.

He turned back toward his friend, looked at him once over, and furrowed his brow. “You are perspiring. Why did you leave work so soon and with this weather?”

Virgil scoffed. “Thanks, Princey. I feel very welcome.”

Roman’s rolled his eyes, but his lips still upturned at the sound of the nickname. “You know better than to think I am disappointed by your unexpected visit. Lord knows I never see you anymore, with my father working you at ungodly hours!”

“I volunteered- What are you doing?”

Roman looked at him pointedly, shrugging off his overcoat. “I am disrobing myself in this very street for you and the spirit of my deceased mother to see me in all my bare glory,” Roman joked. It was Virgil’s turn to roll his eyes.

Roman smirked. “I am giving you my coat so you do not freeze your endearing scowl off.”

Virgil quickly dropped his scowl and shyly, but gratefully took the coat.

Roman glanced at the overcast sky. “It seems like winter will come early this year.” He looked thoughtfully at his friend, “Stay at the shop tonight.” Virgil opened his mouth but was abruptly cut off. “No arguments. I will not have you perishing from the common cold because of that drafty loft you live in.”

Virgil looked wary still. Roman continued, "Come on. Just like when we were kids." The two stared at each other for a couple of moments. "Okay," Virgil muttered.

They walked, sides grazing each other occasionally, as the sun set on the horizon and the cobblestone streets emptied. The falling sunlight streamed through the forest trees and illuminated the young men.

The gleam was what brought Roman’s attention to his companion. In the light, Virgil’s dark brown hair almost had a purple tint to it. Often Roman would find himself in this situation, with him studying Virgil’s face when he thought he was not looking. He liked Virgil's messy hair, his shy scowl, and the soot that covered his face after a hard day’s work. Most of all, he liked Virgil’s smile. His smile was rare and flighty, but that is what made Roman’s heart sing when he saw it. He could write songs and poetry about Virgil’s smile.

Roman unlocked the door and the two entered the shop. There was no light coming from the upstairs, meaning his father was likely asleep. Virgil wandered around the room, letting his fingers graze the instruments. Roman had a sudden pang of nostalgia watching his friend.

“I miss when you used to accompany me in the shop,” Roman said wistfully. Virgil turned to acknowledge that he heard the statement.

Roman made brief eye contact before continuing with his memories.

“Simpler times, I guess,” Roman chuckled. “Drove my mother mad with our shenanigans.” His smile became small and sad. “But she always forgave us.”

“Roman.”

Roman did not look up. When his mother would catch them play fighting, using expensive flutes as swords, she would not stop them. She would just smile and shake her head, hands on her hips, and a stern look that was rendered idle with fond giggles. Sometimes she would scold them with the promise of extra chores if anything was damaged. On rare occasions, if there were no customers to be tended to, she would join them, pretending to be a fierce dragon or a fair maiden who needed to be saved.

The sound of Virgil's soft footsteps moving closer made Roman lookup. Virgil stood there, pulling Roman's coat tighter around him. If he took one small step forward they would be touching, Roman thought.

“Roman,” Virgil said in an unreadable tone.

“I miss her.”

Virgil did not say anything.

“I miss you,” Roman said suddenly as if words no longer belonged to his control. “I never tell you that.”

Virgil looked at him for a long time. “I miss you too. You know that.”

“It is easy to forget sometimes.”

Virgil took that small step toward Roman with sadness in his eyes. Virgil looked down at their shoes, now touching at the toes, and angled one shoulder so it knocked into Roman's. “Sometimes I am afraid you will get sick of me.”

Roman furrowed his brow. “Virgil, I-”

“The Guard is recruiting,” Virgil interrupted, stepping back. Roman felt the loss almost immediately. 

Roman blinked, not sure if he was fully comprehending.

Virgil continued. “I am going to take a job as a Weaponsmith. We will be together so often that if you claim not to be sick of my presence, you soon will be.” 

Virgil tried to smile, but it did not quite reach his eyes. “You will make a great knight, Princey.”


	2. Poet's Lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman and Virgil set out on their journey. Logicality makes an entrance. Thomas is a diaster :D

Roman woke up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the crook of his elbow. He turned over and was slightly startled to be met with Virgil’s sleeping face.

Last night they decided that Virgil would sleep on a spare cot on the floor because there was no way they were going to fit in Roman’s bed without completely being on top of each other. Which left Roman both relieved and disappointed.

Virgil looked peaceful, but his face was still scrunched up. Plagued by an anxious mind even in sleep, Roman thought. His own fingers twitched, wanting to smooth the line between his friend’s brows, but he refrained. He should not push boundaries like that. Teasing was okay, but this was something else. Roman could not bear the thought of Virgil pulling away, repulsed by the show of intimate affection, so he told himself to appreciate the moment before the sunrise took away the sense of privacy.

-

Virgil sat on Roman's bed, legs crossed under him, and watched his friend as he flustered over the spread of clothes and things on the floor. The man was almost physically buzzing with excitement. They were scheduled to leave tomorrow, before sunrise, on a two-day journey by horseback.

“Are you sure we do not need a tent?”

Virgil’s eyes darted up to his friend’s worried face. “Trust me,” he said in his best attempt at reassurance. “The less we carry, the less the horses hate us.”

“I trust you,” Roman sighed, sitting down heavily next to Virgil and letting his top half fall backward. “I am just nervous, I guess. And excited. And nervous, but I shouldn’t be nervous. Especially if you are not nervous, because you are always nervous. So why should I be nervous?”

“You should not be nervous,” Virgil agreed, fighting off a chuckle. Roman tossed an arm over his eyes. “Then why am I nervous?” He groaned. Virgil shrugged, “Because you are excited. And because you care.”

“What are you feeling?” Roman said, sitting up suddenly.

“Not much,” Virgil hunched his shoulders, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. Roman made a sound like he did not quite believe him. “Geez, sound more depressed, will you?”

“It is a big pile of stone. Nothing to be nervous about,” Virgil chuckled tiredly. Roman looked possibly scandalized. “It is not a pile of stone. It is a castle.”

“Castle is just a word. So if we are using words, I prefer ‘pile of stone.’”

“A ‘pile of stone’ that touches the sky,” Roman said defensively.

“It is no taller than a large oak tree,” Virgil argued. “What is impressive is the amount of land coverage.”

“Oh,” Roman paused, caught off guard at the freely given information. “How much land?” he asked cautiously. Virgil raised an eyebrow but obliged if anything to humor him. “20 acres.”

Roman took in a sharp breath and Virgil continued with a smile, “And that is just the buildings. The Curtain Wall stretches even further.”

“How far?” Roman asked in a small voice.

“I am not sure,” Virgil pondered after a second. “But pretty far. Almost to the ocean.” He shrugged. “But past the Gatehouse is the Courtyard,” Virgil added, struck with a need to keep the look of wonder on the other man’s face. “There is a fountain surrounded with probably more flowers than you have ever seen. Then, the stables, and an empty field of land that stretches around the buildings. Perfect for riding. And, you know, training.”

“Wow,” Roman breathed, eyes lost in contemplation.

“Nervous much now?” Virgil asked coyly.

“Very nervous,” Roman smiled, “But now I think I am more excited.”

“Good,” Virgil declared with a nod.

Roman leaped to his feet, grabbing his empty satchel on the way. “Now which clothes am I going to bring?”

-

The forest stretched before them in a tangle of twisting trees and moss-covered stone. A dirt trail worn down by time and footprints. Virgil drew his horse to a stop when they came to a familiar fork in the path.

The sound of trotting hooves came to a steady halt behind him. “How much longer, dear? I am perspiring,” Roman whined.

Virgil ignored him, his mind preoccupied, in search of their destination. “What is your deal with perspiring?” He asked, absentmindedly.

“My deal is that it does not look good on me. Unlike some people.” Roman had muttered the latter part under his breath, and Virgil did not know if he was supposed to hear that.

Virgil tried to ignore the implication. His overactive mind was simply reading too much into this. They were just friends and Roman did things like call him ‘dear’ and say ‘sweat is flattering on you,’ because that is just what he did. Nothing more to it.

“It is somewhere around here,” Virgil assured, pulling his reins to the left and nudging his horse to move. “But do keep in mind that the last time I traveled this path, I was twelve years of age and was not even steering the horse.”

“Well, do let me know what I can do to jog your memory. Buttercup is getting fussy.” To prove the point, the gray spotted stallion huffed.

Virgil scoffed, turning his head, but keeping his eyes forward. “It still baffles me that you named your horse Buttercup.”

“Oh, coming from Mister ‘I named my horse Darkness.' Wow, very creative,” he said sarcastically. “The horse is black.”

“Like my soul,” Virgil deadpanned. Roman made a sound like he was about to respond, but was seemingly startled by the other man pulling his reins in a sudden stop, interrupting Roman’s indignation with, “Found it!” He prompted Darkness into a trot but paused again when he noticed that his companion was not following.

“Virgil,” Roman said in an extremely serious tone. “That is a dirty cave.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “It is surprisingly warm and dry,” he insisted, but Roman still looked skeptical. “What if there are spiders in there?” Roman exclaimed.

“Spiders cannot hurt you, Roman.”

“Anything with teeth can absolutely hurt me.” Roman looked very offended.

“It will be fine,” Virgil insisted. “Or would you rather stay out here? With no tent.”

Roman opened his mouth and closed it quickly.

“Yeah, that is what I thought,” Virgil chuckled, as Roman reluctantly let Buttercup trot over.

Virgil began to collect wood and kindling while Roman took the horses over to a patch of vegetation to graze. He brought in his pile, arranging a tent-like structure and using his fire striker to light a flame. 

Roman brought the horses back in and tied them to the pegs that had been hammered into the cave wall for the very purpose. The cave ceiling was high enough that the animals could stand at a full height comfortably. Roman settled on his sleep mat next to Virgil with a grunt. Virgil tossed him half of the loaf of bread and Roman caught it with ease.

They sat in comfortable silence for a long time. Sounds of the fire crackling and the horses’ heavy breathing providing a pleasant ambiance. A sound of rustling next to him made Virgil turn to see Roman pulling out his lute. Their eyes met and Roman grinned. “Any requests?”

Virgil hummed. “The one about the tiger,” he said after a moment. Roman’s fingers plucked the complicated tune with ease. “Ah, The Tyger. Good choice. El Tigre,” Roman rambled, and before Virgil could tell him not to speak Spanish, his voice started slow and soft.

“Tyger Tyger, burning bright,  
In the forests of the night;  
On what wings dare he aspire?  
What the hand, dare seize the fire?  
And what shoulder, & what art,  
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?  
And when thy heart began to beat,  
What dread hand? & what dread feet?  
What the hammer? what the chain,  
In what furnace was thy brain?  
Tyger Tyger burning bright,  
In the forests of the night.”

-

As the castle emerged in the distance, Roman's breath was taken away. It was everything he had dreamed of and more. Towering pillars, shining stone, and just behind the Curtain Walls, a balcony could be seen. It was more glorious than Virgil’s words could ever entail.

Roman let out a delighted laugh as he followed where Virgil was turning his horse through the open gate. They were not stopped by any of the guards, Roman noted. In the courtyard, there were crowds of young women and men such as them. The two found a stop of empty grass and dismounted. A man in an important-looking uniform greeted them after a moment. “Ah! Do we have two more young men here for training?”

Before Roman could answer, Virgil cleared his throat. “Just one.”

Roman glanced back at his friend who seemed to be retreating with the horses to secure them, ever the one for human interaction. Roman turned back to the man and offered him a hand to shake. “Roman. At your service.”

-

Virgil watched over his shoulder as the official clasped Roman on the back and led him to the center of the courtyard among the other trainees. He imagined how Roman’s face probably lit up. Finally, a chance to achieve his wildest dream. He was probably more happy than he had ever been. Happiness that did not include Virgil.

He ignored the pang in his stomach and resumed tying the reins of his horse to the nearest branch. The mare gazed at him with familiar beady eyes that seemed to bore into his thoughts. Darkness huffed at him. “Oh, shut up,” Virgil muttered. “You sound like Buttercup.”

The said stallion kicked up a small cloud of dirt. Virgil signed and started up the paved pathway to the looming castle doors. The smooth stone felt strange under his feet and seemed to make his footsteps louder than they needed to be. The ever-constant feeling of panic swelled in his gut.

The guards stopped him before he could enter. Two young, but intense looking women, dressed in full amour. Much too official-seeming for such a dull task as making sure no commoners wondered in places they were not supposed to.

Maybe they would not let him in, Virgil wondered. Maybe they would tell him to turn around and leave.

The Royal Advisor approached behind the women, clearing his throat to get their attention. The guards turned and greeted him with curt nods. Logan stood straight, proper as ever. “Let him through, please. He is of noble blood.” Logan met Virgil’s eyes. “And the king has requested his presence.”

The guards gave Virgil a confused once over before bowing and letting him pass. He hurried up the palace steps to compete with the long strides of his old friend. Logan had aged since Virgil last saw him nearly seven winters past. His dark, almost blue-tinged, hair was slicked back, and he donned square-like spectacles that drew Virgil’s attention to the tiredness in his eyes.

Once they were out of earshot of the guards, Virgil asked the question that had been lingering on his mind. “Why has the king requested my presence?” He was quite curious. He had never properly met the new king, as King Thomas had taken the throne about two years ago and Virgil had been long gone by then.

“It was actually Patton who wanted me to fetch you. The king just happens to be with him.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “What is the king doing in the kitchen?”

Logan--in his constant state of exasperation--pinched his brow. “The king has got it in his head that he wants to learn how to cook.” He raised his head and flicked his wrist out. “Which is pointless and impractical, but he is unbearably insistent.”

Virgil chuckled. “I am sure Patton is enjoying himself.”

Logan’s brow unfurrowed at the mention of his spouse. “Patton is content as always.”

Virgil would deny it later, but he felt excited to see Logan. He and Patton were a reminder of the few good memories he had here. Maybe this would not be so bad.

When the two walked into the kitchen, Virgil quickly retracted all of his previous thoughts.

In the kitchen, Patton was chasing a man and frantically trying to fan out the fire caught on the man’s tunic. Logan let out a sound like a squeak. Hastily scanning the room before zeroing in on the pitcher of milk, grabbing the thing and dousing the flames.

There was a moment of silence before Logan let out a violent, “Can someone please? Some- What- Flames." He brought his hands to the side of his face, clenching and unclenching. "Flames. On the sides of my face. Seething fire.”

The man held his hands in defense. “Hear me out,” he said, simultaneously to Patton’s, “Actually the flames were on his leg.”

Logan clapped his hands together. “Patton. My dear. Love of my life, please stop talking.” He then directed his attention to the man. “This is why you listen to me on things, Thomas. Remember how smart I am? You have not known how to cook for the first twenty-five years of your life. It is highly impractical to start now.”

The King held up a finger in protest, but was cut off as Patton excitedly yelled, “Virgil!”

“Hello Patton,” Virgil stuttered, extremely uncomfortable with all the eyes on him now. He panicked and decided to bow. “Your Highness.”

King Thomas shook his head and laughed. “Please, please, none of that. I'm not in uniform and you just saw me almost kill myself making bread. So, you are most certainly not obligated to call me ‘Your Highness.’ Thomas is just fine.”

Virgil chuckled. “Thomas. Right. Hello.”

“Virgil,” Patton repeated with a squeal, embracing Virgil in a hug that could be confused with a death grip.

“Patton. Patton, I need to breathe.” He tried to act indignant, but a smile insistently crept onto his face.

Wow, he missed this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Roman sings is William Blake’s poem “The Tyger.”


	3. Negligence and New Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talyn and Joan! Me attempting to write action scenes. Socially awkward Virgil enters the chat. Logicality being everyone's dads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (let's ignore my inconsistent uploading)
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and comments <3

Words rang in his ears as Roman fell on his ass with a thump.

Earlier that day, the official-looking man had gathered all the recruits and explained to them that they would each be assigned to a knight to assess their skills in hand-to-hand combat, weapon welding, horse riding, among other things. Then, the knight would decide whether or not they were ready to become a sire.

“Are you okay?” A hand fell in front of him. Roman ignored it and got to his feet with a grunt.

He had lost track of how long they had been at it, but if the setting sun was any indication, it had been awhile. Long enough that he learned Talyn used they/them pronouns, enjoyed cats, their vomit, and Viking metal.

He definitely felt like vomiting. Despite being taller and overall larger, Roman rarely got a good shot in. Talyn was quick and deceitfully strong from years of training.

“I am fine,” he replied, fists returning to a defensive position in front of his face, elbows in and left foot forward. Talyn mirrored his stance and waited for him to make the first move. The retreating beams of light reflected in their spectacles and flashed.

He stepped forward with a right hook. Talyn brought their elbow up to block and jabbed, hitting Roman’s forearm. While their body leaned forward, Roman roundhouse kicked at their side, making them stumble back.

The two danced around each other and evaded punches. Roman saw an opening and jabbed, but Talyn turned 45 degrees back to avoid the hit, grabbing his outstretched arm. They twisted it back, before taking a knee to his leg and knocking him to the ground. Roman fell on his side this time. He rolled onto his back and got an eye full of the purple sky. Talyn sighed, “I think that’s enough for today.”

Roman breathed a breath of relief. “Exhausted from defeating me so many times?” He asked, making them chuckle.

“The sun hangs low in the sky,” they replied. Roman got up but immediately stumbled, sharp pain in his knee making him grunt. 

Talyn’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you in pain?”

“I am fine,” he scowled, messaging his knee with one hand, and dismissing them with a flick of the hand. “Simply a sting in the knee. A symptom of genetics. Nothing of concern.”

Talyn put their hands on their hips. “Part of being a good soldier is knowing when to take care of yourself. I would hate to see that become something serious because I see a lot of potential in you,” they said lastly in a genuine tone he knew was aimed to appease him.

Roman was always soft for a compliment. “Okay,” he sighed, the corner of his mouth curving up. “I bid thee farewell.”

They nodded in acknowledgment, bending their arm back over their shoulder in a stretch. “Til tomorrow, Roman.”

He made his way into the castle, getting directions to the medical bay from the two scary looking women guarding the doors. Once there, the nurse gave him some ice and told him to rest. Waste of a trip, Roman thought sourly.

He was wandering down a candlelit hallway, vaguely aware that he was lost when he spotted Virgil exiting a bedchamber. “Virgil,” he called.

His friend’s head popped up with a curious look before grinning, “hello.” He put his hands in his pocket and stumbled over. “What are you doing over here?” He inclined his head in question.

Roman shifted the position of the ice on his knee, feeling suddenly off-balance under Virgil’s easy grin and crinkled eyes. A striking difference from this morning. “Trying to find my way to the barracks, but you can see how that is going.” 

“Well, I am glad I found you before then,” he swung an elbow in a gesture to the door he had just exited, “because your bags are in here.”

“What is ‘here’ exactly?”

“My room.”

Roman contemplated between close quarters with Virgil and whatever he would be provided in the barracks. In the end, it was never really much of a choice.

“Okay. Well,” Roman tried for a casual tone, “I am not going to argue with linen sheets.”

“Silk.”

“What?”

“The sheets,” Virgil clarified, absentmindedly, before his eyes went wide. He cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels. “Here, let me get the door.”

-

Virgil stared at the ceiling, eyes straining to focus in the darkness. He dragged his hand across his face and suppressed a groan.

Despite his better judgment, he could not help but sneak a glance at Roman, who was sleeping in the bed seated perpendicular to his own giving him the perfect view of the rise and fall of his chest.

Virgil’s eyes adjusted to the stream of moonlight coming through the window as it illuminated his sleeping face. Virgil quickly looked away. He needed to quit the ‘watching his best friend sleep thing’ before it became something regular.

He was startled out of his stupor at the sound of a strong knock on the door.

For a moment his heart was in his throat and he felt twelve years old again.

The door opened and Virgil was taken out of his mind by the intruding candlelight flooding the room. Virgil could hear Roman shifting in his bed, groaning under his breath.

Virgil recognized the two figures in the doorway and immediately threw the fold of his arm over his eyes. “What are you guys doing here?” He grimaced.

“Patton wanted to say goodnight,” Logan stated with Patton chiming in with, “Like when you were a kid.” 

Virgil exhaled sharply through his nostrils, letting his arm fall and his voice rise considerably, “I am pretty sure you guys used to do that before,” he gestured to the window, “the moon was overhead… Also, I am nineteen, Patton.”

Roman rubbed his eyes and sat up, revealing his shirtless torso. To which Virgil very pointedly looked at his hands and missed Patton’s expression when he all but squeaked, “Is this Roman?!”

Virgil’s head snapped up to see Patton with his arms wrapped around Roman’s shoulders, as his friend donned a startled look on his face.

“Patton,” Virgil hissed. “Stop touching people you do not know.”

Patton unwrapped his arms from around Roman but still stayed plastered to his side. “But Virgil, he is no stranger!”

Logan approached with observing eyes and took Roman’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I thought he would be more attractive.”

“What do you want?” Virgil gritted out.

Logan had the decency to take a step back. “I am thoroughly unimpressed.”

“Virgil? What is happening?” Roman said in a hazy voice.

“I am Patton and this is my husband, Logan.”

“Pleasure,” Logan offered his hand to shake upon which, to Virgil’s horror, Roman did.

Virgil resigned himself to whatever this was, getting out of bed and throwing a shirt on before shoeing the older men away from Roman’s personal space bubble.

He proceeded to address Roman with arms crossed and eyes glared at the other two. “Um, these are my friends. Patton is the head chef and Logan is the king’s advisor.”

Roman’s “nice to meet you” was ignored by Logan and his need to ruin Virgil’s life. “Virgil I need to speak with you. Alone.”

“Could not be rude for, like, one minute?” Virgil tried to make his words aggressive, but his mind was immediately taken to hours earlier when Logan pushed a key into his hand and told him they would talk of it later.

“It is okay,” Roman assured with quiet politeness and Virgil turned his head to see him rubbing his eyes as he fumbled for his shoes and a fresh tunic.

He fixed Virgil with a soft smile that did not reach his eyes. “Looks like I need more ice anyways.”

Virgil, with his arms still crossed, looked at his feet, having nothing more to say. The trio remained silent as Roman slipped out the door and closed it quietly behind him.

Logan cleared his throat, “So-”

“Logan, you are the worst pen pal in the world!”

“I beg your-”

“Guys.” 

Logan and Virgil found themselves both taken aback by Patton’s uncharacteristically authoritative voice.

“Please,” Patton sighed, straightening his glasses and fixing the younger man with a paternal gaze that never failed to make Virgil uneasy. “Virgil, this is important…”

-

Roman shut the door behind him and slumped into it, letting out a breath. In the midst of rubbing his eyes, he was startled by Virgil’s voice whisper shouting something about pen pals.

He took that as his hint to move, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping where it was made clear he was not wanted.

He quickly shook that thought from his head. It was none of his business, he told himself. But as he listened to his footsteps echo on the smooth castle stone, what he could not shake was the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Roman spent much of the past six years thinking he was the one person in Virgil’s life who knew him the best, and maybe Roman was selfish, but it was a strange concept sharing someone you never really had to share.

He dismissed his thoughts for a second time as he found a staircase that he began to descend, and remembered that Virgil was here with him because he wanted to be. The two were beginning a new chapter of life. Away from dirty beginnings and mundane lives. It was going to be okay. It was going to be an adventure.

As the room came into view, Roman was met with a slow bustle of servants.

Careful of his knee, he weaved through bodies and made his way to the front doors. The doors were guarded by a different set of intense looking guards and were now closed. They continued to look straight ahead, not acknowledging him as he approached.

“Excuse me?”

Roman cleared his throat when he was met with no response. “I would like to step outside for some fresh air.”

“No one is allowed outside the castle after midnight,” the guard on the left replied in an unnecessarily loud voice.

Roman turned around to see that several of the servants had stopped and been staring. Alright, so he was not notified of a curfew. No need to make a scene.

He lowered his voice. “Is there a reason-”

The guard on the right cut him off in the same rather booming voice. “No one is allowed outside the castle after midnight.”

Realizing this was going nowhere, Roman spun around in a huff and promptly collided with someone.

Roman groaned from where he fell on the floor. On his ass again, he noticed. A groan from in front of him prompted him to open his eyes to the person before him leaning forward to gather up the things they had dropped. With a start, Roman let out a string of apologizes and muttered curse words, and scrambled to collect the other person’s fallen items. He quickly recognized them as things that would be found in his father’s workspace.

“I am so sorry,” he said for the umpteenth time. He must have looked frazzled because the other person simply chuckled and said, “no worries.”

“Let me help you carry these at least,” Roman insisted. It had been clearly too many items for one person to hold.

The other person smiled, shifting the items over to one side, freeing a hand that Roman consequently shook. “I am Roman.”

They released his hand and readjusted the knitted cap on their head.

“Joan.”

-

“Shit,” Virgil said softly, head reeling. Vision blurring yellow as he stared at the flame held by Logan’s candlestick. He was sitting on Roman’s bed, not remembering exactly when that happened.

“I am sorry we did not tell you sooner,” Patton said with a pained expression.

“I understand,” Virgil said after a moment. He then sighed and gave a small nod. They agreed not to include mentions of Virgil’s family in their letters, as a precaution were they to be intercepted.

“That is why my letters have been more frequent and more career-oriented,” Logan clarified, “I was hoping to convince you to return.” He cleared his throat and took a familiarly professional tone. “There is the matter of your inheritance. All of your parents' possessions. Your uncle’s estate-”

“What happened to Remus?”

“He was found in collusion as well, but since there was no evidence of direct action, his sentence was only imprisonment.”

When Virgil did not say anything, Patton placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

The strange thing was, he was alright. He might have been better than fine even. The monsters under the bed, tormentors of his childhood. They were gone for good.

He patted the hand on his shoulder. “I am okay. Thanks, Patton.”

Virgil stared at a crack in the wood beneath his feet and another question came to mind.

“Who is going to take Remus’s place in court?”

Logan shifted his weight to one side and was lost in thought for a moment. “Well,” he continued, “King Thomas was actually considering you for the position.”


End file.
